MIXINGLY WEATHERED
A still facade, a vortex’s silent scream
Conceals ruins, buried, in a forgotten dream
A ruin, hidden, yet springs forth in fragile swings
Where shadows thrive, and the truth barely clings.
Behind the veil, a hidden truth resides
Where the Elephant coverts the treasure
And the umbrella shields the rain; stifling the growth
As Western matriarchs take the wheel.
Election promises, mere rhetorical surmise.
The people’s voice, drowned by partisan din.
As their love veils lust for power and gain.
Their lips speak honey yet, hands grasp for pain.
Is the freedom a façade, or a clever guise?
Is progress a slogan or a tangible change
About to touch every corner or a hollow range?
The mix of distorted truth contending with facts
A toxic cocktail
Are we really that gullible? Or is it a politically
Indoctrinated agenda? Quadrennially, the
Charade turns a national celebration.
A spectacle of rhetoric, young and old.
But beyond the noise, we search for what’s real
A genuine patriot, who’ll truly heal
The bruised and battered soul of the follower.
Is it power or service that drives their quest?
A mixingly weathered truth, lost in the sand, we guess
We yearn for authenticity, not scripted lines
Leaders who uplift, not perpetuate decline
The ambiguity lingers, voters brainwashed and worn
Floaters, pessimistic, idealistic, and forlorn
A mix of hope and doubt cushions their very believe
Will youth-led change bring progress, or the same old hand?
Only time will tell, as Ghana’s story’s framed
But for now, we seek truth, beyond the mixingly weathered game.
J. A. Owiredu
